Remember
by iwantsupernatural
Summary: Somtimes he forgets, so he has to make himself remember.
1. Chapter 1

At first it's so he doesn't forget. He promised he'd never forget, promised he'd always remember _him_ , but thousands of years later, just as _he'd_ said, he's forgetting. The first time it happens, he panics. He can't recall _his_ name. He can't forget _him_ , never _him_. He promised he wouldn't, and besides, he doesn't want to. He can't remember _his_ name, so he forces himself to. He forces himself to remember, goes deep into his memories, and he remembers. He can't forget again, so he won't. He makes himself remember, and he carves the name onto the only canvas that will stay with him through his eternity. That name, that one name, stands out clearly on his arm, written in flesh and blood and blade.

 _'Jones, Ianto Jones.'_

 _'Nice to meet you, Jones, Ianto Jones.'_

A distant memory, one that happened thousands upon thousands of years ago. Their first meeting, the start of the whirlwind that was them. Meeting, attraction, working, lust, danger, love, the end of the world, and death. Everything at once, starts, stops, ends and then _he's_ not there anymore and he falls into a pit of loneliness and grief and mourning and remembrance. He can't let _him_ , ' _Ianto. Ianto Jones_ ,' go. He won't.

The next thing he forgets is Ianto's eyes. What color were _his_ eyes again? He thinks they might have been blue, but then, they might have been gray or a color in between. He dredges up a memory of a perfect face, one with a look of adoration, one that he misses so much the cavern that was once his heart aches and aches and he feels like crying because of it. Blue. Sometimes blue, and sometimes gray, and always, always open, no matter how much Ianto tried to keep them closed off. Beneath the fading name, _he should rewrite it, he knows, because he can't let it fade, he can't forget_ _,_ he writes the color with a steel pen in dripping crimson ink on his soft, pale canvas. Then he rewrites the name in shaky letters. They don't line up, the old writing and the new, but _his_ name is still legible so he can live with imperfect letters so long as he can remember.

He forgets Ianto's favorite device next. He can't believe he let himself forget this, because he can remember that Ianto always looked so happy with it in _his_ hand and on _his_ person. _He_ always loved using _it_ , the thing he can't remember, and he hates himself for forgetting what always made his Ianto so gleeful. As he shoves his hands in his old army coat, the one that Ianto got for him at the end of the world, ' _he always did like the coat,_ ' his fingers meet a round, metal object. He pulls it out, feeling the slight weight of the little thing, and he can remember again. Ianto's stopwatch.

 _'If you interested, I've still got that stopwatch.'_

 _'So?'_

 _'Well, think about. Lots of things you can do with a stopwatch.'_

He carves that next to the name and the color. A stopwatch. Ianto always looked so gleeful when he had the object in _his_ hand.

 _'Actually, nine minutes. Fifty... forty-nine... forty-eight... always at the ready!'_ And _he_ looks so gleeful as _he_ calls out the time left using _his_ stopwatch. He can't remember why Ianto was counting down, he can only remember the look on his face. He feels like it was important, at the time, but now all that's important is his lover and remembering. He can't break his promise, not to Ianto. Not to his lover who he hurt so much.

Next he forgets the way Ianto sounded when _he_ called him 'sir', with that beautiful Welsh accent, and he hates himself even more because he can't carve the way _his_ voice sounded onto his canvas. For that lost memory, he rewrites Ianto's name, over and over and over again until his canves is a mess of crimson and his head spins and his vision darkens and he's finally at peace, however brief it may be. And as his world fades into darkness and his heart stops and his breath leaves him and his warmth escapes and the crimson keeps running down down down flooding drowning running covering him up, he's thrilled to see the face of his Ianto. He doesn't want to wake up. He never wants to wake up.

 _'Jack. Wake up. It's not your time yet, Jack.'_

 _'I don't wanna go.'_

 _'You have to. You can't die yet.'_

 _'No. Please, no. Don't make me leave.'_

 _'You have to, sir.'_

 _'I'm forgetting you. I'm sorry, Ianto. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I can't remember, and I promised I would. I don't wanna forget you! I don't wanna leave!'_

Screaming, he wakes with a gasp and finds himself covered in his own blood. His arm is healed and scarred over, but _his_ name isn't legible anymore. He screams with sobs, rocking back and forth, keening, wailing, hurting, he hates this life, he hates it, he can't stand it, he just wants it all to end, he just wants to die.

 _'It's not your time yet, Jack.'_ Those beautiful Welsh vowels, shaping his own name. He holds onto that voice with everything he has, running it through his mind over and over again. He can't die yet. Not until Ianto says he can. He has to live for Ianto, and how ironic is that, to live for a dead man?

His attention turns to his arm. Ianto's name is an illegible mass of scar tissue that he'll never be able to read. He can't forget though, not again, never again, so he carefully rewrites it next to its former place and he vows to rewrite it again and again until it's permanently a part of him.

He painstakingly lives for millenia more. Year after year after year, forgetting other little details of his Ianto, ones that he carves into his flesh over and over so he won't forget. And with each passing year, he breaks a little more at a time and the only thing that runs through his mind is a continuous chant: Ianto, Ianto, Ianto. That one name, over and over again, the one name that keeps him alive, that he clings to. And so enwrapped in that name is he that he never notices he's changing. He's losing shape, losing his ability to write those little details about Ianto over and over again so he never forgets, and he hates it so much but he can't do anything about it.

And then, he can't write anymore. And out of the darkness that is his mind comes the bright golden light of time that is the Doctor and Bad Wolf, who he would recognize anywhere. And though his minds still screams that one name over and over and over and over again, he wakes up from his haze a bit, takes notice of the world around him, the way the timelines are moving, And he lives a bit more, but part of him is trapped in his memories, trapped with Ianto.

And then, finally, years upon years upon years in the future, he's free. The Doctor stands before him, the Doctor and a dark-skinned companion, and then he's free.

Those thousands upon thousands upon thousands of years of pain and longing and desperation and forgetting and remembering and carving and he's free. Finally, gloriously free from his curse, and he dies one final time, and he's happy for the first time since Ianto died. And as his mind drifts away, he can see that perfect face with those sometimes blue somtimes gray eyes and that dark brown hair that's almost black and curls slightly over _his_ forehead, and he can hear that lovely voice and those beautiful Welsh vowels, and Ianto's there, and _he's_ not going away, not this time.

And Ianto looks so horribly devastated at the state he's in, _scars and forgetfulness and hatred and age and pain,_ but he can't bring himself to talk about it because Ianto's there and all he can see feel hear smell is Ianto and he refuses to let that go.

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 **A/N: I feel like this wasn't that good and I tried to make it stretch too long, and I'm really not that happy with it, but here it is. Also, I know I've been absent for a very long time, but I've kind of lost a lot of inspiration for writing, so I'm really glad that I managed to get this up. I'll try to start writing more, but I make no promises. As always, please read and review. I always appreciate your input and thoughts.**


	2. Chapter 2

' _Love did you remember me,  
Love of long ago?  
Yes; we kept that fond oath sworn  
A thousand years ago'_

~Charles Godfrey Leland  
 _A Thousand Years Ago_

Sometimes he feels guilty. He knows it's not his fault, dying, but watching his lover completely self-destruct is painful, and he can't help but feel as though it's his fault for leaving. He's only lived around 25 years, but he has more regrets than most. Lisa, for one. Not falling in love with her- he could never regret that, but her partial transformation and his determination to fix her. She would have hated what she became, and clinging to the false hope that he could restore he remains one of his biggest regrets.

Using Jack and Torchwood and everyone one of Torchwood 3's employees is another regret of his. Going behind their backs, lying, bringing a half-transformed cyberwoman when he knew how dangerous they could be, they were some of the stupidest mistakes in his life, and some of his worst regrets.

His greatest regret, however, is dying and leaving his Captain a shattered man. The moment the 456 released that gas in the air, he felt it slowly burning through his lungs, clogging the airways, each breath more painful than the last, eyes blurring the sight of the most incredible man he had ever known crying over him.

 _'I love you'_

 _'Don't' 'Ianto, stay with me. Stay with me. Please! Stay with me, please, please…'_

 _'Hey' 'It was good, yeah?'_

 _'Yeah'_

 _'Don't forget me'_

 _'Never could'_

 _'A thousand years time? You won't remember me'_

 _'Yes I will. I promise, I will'_

Those final moments, more painful even than Lisa's death. The sight of Jack _crying_ over _him_ was one that could have broken him had he not already been dying. And now, as he watches over his immortal lover, _he knew that it wouldn't last forever. One day he'd die, and then Jack would still be left alone_ he feels like crying. The immortal man, once so full of life, beyond what was given to him a billion years in the future, is horribly lifeless, a state that one such as him should never be in. The first time he begins forgetting, Ianto doesn't blame him. It's been beyond a thousand years, and a name doesn't mean anything in comparison to Jack's infinite lifespan. That he even remembers the shy Welsh archivist from over a thousand years ago is beyond what Ianto ever hoped for; that he still loves him is like a miracle.

The first time Ianto watches as his name is carved into the pale flesh that he knows so well, his heart breaks for his Captain. He never imagined his death would do such a thing to anyone, especially not Captain Jack Harkness, the man who never dies, the man who has lived through more lifetimes than anyone could hope to imagine. He never imagined that Jack could be driven to such a thing, and he hates it. He screams silently for his lover not to do it, not to be so forgone as to carve Ianto's name into his own arm as not to forget it. Jack doesn't hear him, and he gains his first scar.

Ianto watches as Jack slowly forgets other little bits and pieces about him- eye color, favorite device _stopwatch, without hesitation, every time,_ and voice. And every time that silver pen catches on a pale canvas in red ink, his heart breaks a little more. And when Jack finally loses himself and carves the five letters that make up Ianto's name over and over and over again until he dies, the Welshman hates himself. He feels guilty enough that he manages to find his way into the place Jack goes when he dies.

He tells Jack not to give up completely, not to die, and how ironic is that, the dead man telling the immortal man to live? And by some stroke of luck, his Captain listens. His name still gets carved into that scarred flesh, but his lover hasn't given up, not quite yet.

Ianto watches as Jack slowly warps into something more than human, a giant face who has lived for millenia, and he sees that his lover is slowly becoming at peace. He watches as a madman in a strange blue box and a golden girl who glows like the sun _Bad Wolf_ , his mind whispers, _Rose Tyler and the Doctor_ visit the end of the world and his lover slowly becomes himself again. He watches as, billions of years after that, the doctor with a different face and a dark-skinned companion say goodbye to Jack in his dying moments.

And then he is finally reunited with his immortal lover, put to rest at last. And as Ianto sees Jack fade into view, and suddenly he's being clung to by his sobbing, desperate love, he can't help the devastated look as he sees the state of his Captain- scars and hatred and rage- but he wraps his arms around the familiar figure, though where Jack was once strong and muscular, he has decayed into a skeletal frame whose skin is mostly scar tissue. But he's there, with his love, and all he can _seehearsmellfeel_ is Jack, and they're together, and the worry dissipates for the time being, even though the rough scars are obvious against his gentle touch.

They can talk about that another time.

* * *

 **A/N: I didn't expect to write another chapter for this, but I wanted to do Ianto's point of view. It's not as long as Jack's POV, but I feel like it's better written and more put together. As always, please read and review. I appreciate any input and thoughts you have on this, whether errors, criticism, or just comments. Thank you for reading!**


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